


skywalker syndrome

by lloydskywalkers



Category: Lego Ninjago
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, ao3 i missed your tagging system, but not coming up with tags, but not really it's just lloyd's arm, one of these days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lloydskywalkers/pseuds/lloydskywalkers
Summary: Statistically speaking, Lloyd had always known his chances of keeping all his limbs weren't exactly great, but that knowledge really doesn't help a whole lot now that he's down an entire arm. Luke Skywalker definitely had it easier, no matter what Nya says.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's taken me five years but I'm coming back to AO3 because I miss the tagging system so anon, if you're out there, this is for you. 
> 
> Anyways this is entirely based off a trend of tumblr a while back where Lloyd loses his arm, and gets a sick Robot Arm instead. Technically the AU takes place in the movie-verse, but I had an idea for the show so! while it is mostly canon compliant for s8 and s9, there's just...Lloyd losing an arm added in. And the aftermath of that. A lot of aftermath of that. 
> 
> (Also don't ask where the snake come from. Plot convenience, that's what.)

It’s nearing the height of dusk when the scream rings out across the city, the sky a midnight blue behind the smoky streaks left from fires as the agonized cry echoes loudly across the empty, near-haunted streets, reverberating from building to half-wrecked building. Ronin stiffens at the sound, his hands clenching sharply around the hilt of the knife tucked in his belt. He goes still, the tail end of the scream slowly fading around him where he stands half-hidden in the alley, shrouded in the darkness left by the shattered street lights. 

The group of bikers he’s hiding from seem to take a similar reaction, their normal manic expressions replaced by the same alarm, the same looks of discomfort Ronin knows he wears as the hairs on his neck crawl. There are several exchanged glances, a burst of rude chatter, and the Sons of Garmadon are gone, racing back down the streets with a roar of engines as loud as they came with.

Ronin exhales, letting his hand stray from the knife. He’s never been one to avoid risks, but in a time like this, cutting it close is a little _too_ close for him. He ought to keep a better eye out as he heads back.

He spares one last glance at the darkened sky, his thoughts straying to the scream. While it’s not uncommon to hear a cry echo out across Ninjago City, especially in these days, there was something undeniably eerie about this one, a sinking kind of dread that claws at Ronin’s heart even now that it’s long-faded.

He swallows, shaking off the feeling best he can. Whoever they are, he can only hope they either escaped or met a quick, painless end. Either way, it’s not his problem.

He really should have known better, with the crowd he hangs out with.

* * *

“M’sorry.”

“It’s not your fault — Pixal, help me, I’m losing my grip-“

“Sorry.”

“Here, grab his ar-“ There’s a sharp, shaking inhale. “Just hold him up, we’re almost back to the warehouse-“

“M’sorry, Nya-“

“Stop apologizing and stay awake, just —! Pixal, can you - hey, no no no, eyes on me, okay?”

“S’my fault.”

“I said eyes on me!”

* * *

It’s Lloyd’s own stupid fault, that’s what it comes down to. 

Not that everything going horribly-pear-shaped wrong due to a classic Lloyd screw-up is anything _new_ , but Nya’s trying her best to push that it’s not, and Lloyd appreciates it, but this time, it actually, truly, very-much-without-a-doubt is his fault. 

“Five minutes,” Ronin growls, stalking through the warehouse. “I leave for _five_ minutes, and - and _this_ happens?”

He gestures wildly at Lloyd, who’s still lying half-trapped in Nya’s embrace and is unlikely to escape anytime soon. Skylor glares at him. 

“Keep it down,” she says, her voice hushed but strained. “We didn’t have anything to sedate him with.”

Ronin swears, but the horror’s more evident in his voice now. He gives the busted table chair a half-hearted kick, before collapsing wearily in it, grinding a palm against his eyes. “How’s he holding up?”

Lloyd feels a gentle hand card through his hair, and his heart hurts at how he can feel Nya’s fingers still trembling. 

“He’s alive,” Nya breathes, small and quiet. “That’s what matters.”

“The surgery was successful at halting the bleeding,” Pixal murmurs from somewhere to his right. “That’s the best we can do for now.”

There’s a choked sob nearby, which Lloyd recognizes as his mother. Mystake’s gravelly tones pick up, though her words don’t entirely make it through the cloudy haze that’s settled in Lloyd’s brain. He frowns — or tries to, he thinks — when his mouth won’t move. He wants to tell them that he’s fine. It doesn’t hurt that much anymore, really. There’s a constant ache, and if he moves there’s a seventy percent chance he’s gonna break down crying, but compared to the fiery agony from earlier, this is _nothing_. He feels off-balance if anything, like someone’s shifted him too far to one side. Lighter, like he’s lost some heavy weight that used to be there. 

Lloyd frowns, and he feels his eyebrows moving this time. He strains, trying to pull his right arm closer. He’s met with that off-balance feeling again, except this time there’s an odd kind of emptiness. His frown grows deeper, and he tries to move his fingers, to get his right hand to move-

“Hey, it’s okay, go back to sleep.” Nya’s voice is soft and familiar, comforting in a way only Nya is, and Lloyd feels her hand in his hair again. “I’ve got you, okay? Just go back to sleep.”

Lloyd wants to protest, but he lets it go, exhaustion pulling him back under. A nagging part of him fights it, wondering why there’s an undercurrent of heartbreak in Nya’s voice. Wonders why his mother was sobbing, why Ronin was so angry, why Pixal kept going on about a surger-

Lloyd’s eyes snap open. He stares blankly up at the ceiling of the warehouse, memory crashing back down on him with all the subtle force of a wrecking ball. 

_Oh yeah_ , he thinks dully, as he stops trying to move his right arm. 

He doesn’t have one anymore. 

* * *

“You know, out of everyone, I think you’re the best with handling stitches.”

Nya doesn’t look up from his ar— from his…shoulder, but she gives a quiet hum of acknowledgement.

“Like, it’s not that hard a competition, ‘cause Kai always looks like he’s gonna puke instead, Cole an’ Zane seem like they’re gonna start crying, and Jay’s more likely to sew his sleeve to you instead, but still.”

Nya finally snorts at that, and Lloyd feels the darkened, crushing weight that’s made itself at home on his chest lift a little bit. 

“Cole’s actually better at it,” she says quietly, carefully dragging the antiseptic-soaked cloth over the wound again. “I get pretty emotional sometimes too.”

“Well—” Lloyd trips over his own tongue as something in his shoulder sears hot, and he tries to hide the flinch (Nya’s looked sad enough recently). “I still think you’re the best. And that’s not a knock on you, uh, being a girl and stuff, since this is technically sewing, you know, and that’s usually-“

“Let it go while you’re ahead, green machine,” but Nya’s smiling for real this time. She gives him a look. “Besides, we all know you’re the best seamstress after Zane. I saw what you did with your uniform.”

“M’not a seam _stress_ ,” Lloyd argues. “I’m a…seamst-er? That sounds wrong…”

Nya shakes her head in amusement, and, to Lloyd’s eternal relief, finally begins to wrap the bandages around what’s left of his upper arm. 

There’s not much. Lloyd swallows thickly, finally sparing it a glance now that the actual wound’s hidden from view. There’s his shoulder, there’s the end of it, there’s some bandages, and then—

Nothing. Just empty space. 

The warm weight of Nya’s hand finds his own (his _only_ ), squeezing briefly. “It is hurting again?”

Lloyd shakes his head. “No,” he says. It’s not entirely a lie. The weight sitting on his chest hurts a lot more.

Nya hesitates, her breath hitching. “Are you hurting again?”

Lloyd pauses, looking down at where his legs hang over the edge of the table. He plays the look on her face that night over again in his head, the shaking of her hands. Lloyd shakes his head.

“No,” he says, pasting a smile across his lips. “I’m fine.”

Nya doesn’t look like she believes him, but that’s alright. Lloyd doesn’t really know if he does, himself. 

* * *

The thing nobody seems to get is that he brought this entirely on himself. Like, yeah, it was terrible and painful and Lloyd’s got so much blood left on his uniform he may as well be Kai at this point, and he’s probably gonna have to make some drastic adjustments to his fighting style — definitely will, because his fighting style won’t even work anymore, the arm he’d hold his katana with is _gone_ now, and FSM he’s gonna have to learn how to do _everything_ again-

Inhale. Deep breath. Freaking out isn’t going to make it better.

Lloyd exhales shakily, and his heart rate returns to something a little more manageable. 

So. Anyways. It’s Lloyd’s fault, and that means he doesn’t get to curl up in a corner so no one can see him trying not to cry over the fact that he can’t get his stupid armor strap to buckle with one hand. 

Lloyd bites his lip furiously, fingers — he’s only got five of them now, looks like he’s finally gonna have to learn how to do math in his head — fumbling clumsily with the strap, leather slipping through his hold as the strap falls loose. He tightens his grip on it, bringing his knee up to — to _try_ and pin it down, maybe he can — teeth, maybe? Whatever it takes to get this strap to stay still, because the hand he’d usually use to hold it is — is—

Lloyd sniffs miserably, then wipes furiously at his eyes. _Don’t_ , he tells himself viciously. _Don’t cry._ He can’t cry, he doesn’t get to, not when he knows what the alternative is. Really, in contrast, losing his arm is — it’s—

Well, it’s not _great_. It’s definitely not something Lloyd’s ever had on his bucket list, that’s for sure, but it’s what he ended up with. It’s just like the Tomorrow’s Tea, like the responsibility of murdering his dad, like Uncle Wu suddenly dropping team leadership out of the sky and into his lap. Lloyd sure as heck didn’t _want_ it, but it’s what he got, so he’s gotta deal with it. No use in overthinking the _what-ifs_ or _unfairs_. 

It would, of course, be a little easier to put up with if it’d stop _hurting_ so much. Lloyd grits his teeth against the throbbing ache, too-sharp incisors digging into his lip. He forces his jaw to relax before he cuts his lip again, and gives a sharp exhale instead. It’s just in his head — the pain’s just in his head, he reminds himself. There’s no arm there to ache in the first place, even if he _swears_ he can still feel the limb, still feel the ache in his elbow, his wrist, his fingers that _aren’t freaking there anymore-_

“Phantom limb,” Pixal tells him clinically, after having dragged him from his hidden corner of self-pity and general loathing of the universe on the whole. “It’s normal for amputees.” 

“Oh.” Lloyd bites his lip again, staring at the empty space where his arm should be, trying to force back the blurring in his eyes. He appreciates that Pixal’s being straight up with him — that she’s not looking at him with that heartbroken sort of pity, trying to soften every word like she’s talking to a wild animal about to bolt, he really does. But it just-

_Amputee_. His arm’s really gone for good, huh. _Weird_ seems like too underwhelming a word, but that’s all Lloyd’s brain is giving him right now. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, it’s more like a numb sort of blunt shock that keeps socking him in the head every time he thinks about it. But that’s alright, he tells himself. It’s just gonna take some adjustment. He’d known this. He’d known _exactly_ what he was getting himself into he made his choice. 

So he can _get over it_ already. He’s fine. He doesn’t really have the time not to be, he thinks, as the crashing sounds of the Colossi echo from the TV set again. 

He also really, really needs to get better at pasting that smile on his face. Because while _Lloyd_ might be fine, the, uh….the accident hasn’t exactly been a great motivational point for their little resistance. Nya tries her very best not to cry but ends up sobbing into Lloyd’s empty sleeve anyways, because she tried to hold his hand when Pixal re-did the stitches and she realized it wasn’t there, then promptly broke into a steadily-devolving stream of _“I should have protected you!”_ sort of shtick Lloyd is used to hearing from Kai. 

His mom starts crying the minute she sees him and Lloyd’s pretty sure she hasn’t stopped since. Lloyd would try to comfort her more, but the last time he tried that, he panicked and resorted to making terrible puns about arms, which he’s pretty sure just made her start crying harder. Pixal swings back and forth between nagging at him to take better care of the wound and rattling off other accounts she’s read from people who’ve lost limbs with an almost desperate sort of intensity, stressing that the transition is going to be hard at first, but once they get the prosthetic made and he’s used it for a while, he’ll be able to do everything he could before, she promises-

The other elemental masters have been keeping a respectful distance, which Lloyd is really hoping is just because they want to give him space, and not because they think he’s completely lost his marbles. 

Skylor and Ronin are the only two with reactions that don’t make Lloyd feel like a walking-worst-human-ever. Skylor’s got that tough sort of determinedness Lloyd recognizes a little too well, and she actually appreciates the arm puns — they’ve got a list they’re making to try out on Kai when he gets back, ‘cause FSM knows they’re gonna need some tension-breaking one-liners for _that_ reunion. Ronin treats him about how he always has, which Lloyd appreciates more than words, but he also helps because he _gets_ the visceral desperation that drives you to take insane lengths to come out on top sometimes. 

None of that, of course, changes the fact that Lloyd now has to live with the reality that he effectively Luke Skywalker-ed himself, but he figures that was pretty much an inevitability with the way his life was going, anyways. 

* * *

“Hey,” Nya speaks up, half-bent over the metal in her lap. “You, uh, you remember _Star Wars_?”

Lloyd gives her a blank look from where he sits cross-legged on the table. “Do I _remember Star Wars_ ,” he says, flatly. “No, I don’t remember Jay making Darth Vader noises at me for two months straight, or hearing _‘Lloyd I am your father_ ’ eight thousand times a day-“

“Alright, geez, point taken,” Nya says. “When’d you become such a snarky little brat?”

“When my dad chucked me through a wall,” Lloyd mutters, darkly.

“Pretty sure you were one before that, but okay,” Nya says, breezing through Lloyd’s mood-killer statement like only Nya can. “Anyways, remember the end of _Empire Strikes Back?_ Everything’s kinda terrible, because they lost Han and the _Falcon_ keeps messing up, and Luke is-“

“Luke lost a _hand_ ,” Lloyd interrupts, narrowing his eyes at her. He’d figured out where she was going with this the minute she mentioned _Star Wars_ , but _still_. “Do you see this?” He gestures at his right shoulder, which pretty much just ends in his right shoulder. “This is an _entire arm_. Luke had it way better, he got to keep like — he got to keep his elbow, and his, um, whatever you call the bones in your upper arm-“

“Are you trying to invalidate Luke Skywalker’s hand loss?” Nya says. 

“No, I’m saying he at least had it a _little_ better, because his dad neatly sliced his hand off, instead of releasing an ancient snake on him that eventually ended in Luke chopping the entirety of his own arm off like a crazy person.”

“You definitely had crazy in your eyes,” Nya mutters. She blows her breath out, then pins him with a look. “Look, I know we’ve — we’ve talked about this, but if you ever— if you _ever_ try anything like that again-“

“Next time I’m planning on sending a katana through my arm, I’ll give you five minutes’ warning, promise.”

Nya whacks him solidly across the head. Lloyd yelps, throwing his arms up in defense —

W _hoops_ , he thinks blankly, as he starts toppling off the table, any sense of balance lost completely. He doesn’t have an arm on that side, so if he moves like that, he’s gonna send himself-

Lloyd hits the floor with an _oof_ , just barely bringing his good arm up in time to protect his face. His armless side, on the other hand, is not so lucky. 

“Lloyd!” Nya’s yelp is punctuated by the sound of metal clattering to the ground, and she’s at his side before he can push himself back into a semi-dignified stance.

“M’okay,” he says, finally maneuvering himself into a sitting position, desperately trying not to jostle his right side more. “Just - _ow_ \- banged it up a little.” 

He tries to stand up, only to lose his balance again, wavering briefly before he stumbles back to the floor. Lloyd hisses in frustrated pain, curling in on himself. Ow, ow, _ow_ , why’d he have to land on that side-

“Here.” Nya’s hand is gentle on his back as she eases him up, the other kneading into the muscles of his shoulder just above what’s left of his mangled arm. Lloyd feels himself relax a bit, the pain ebbing slightly. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs, arm still wrapped around himself. 

Nya squeezes his shoulder, and Lloyd hears more than sees her take a seat next to him, her knee bumping his. 

“It’s like _Star Wars,_ ” she repeats, sounding as lost as he feels, while trying to convince herself she’s not. “Everything’s terrible right now, but it’s — it’s gonna work out fine in the end.”

“Yeah,” Lloyd says, following her gaze where she stares up at the window high above them. “Just like _Star Wars._ ”

…well, he hopes it’s not exactly like _Star Wars_. He really doesn’t wanna test out what’s left of his father’s moral integrity while getting electrocuted to death. 

Garmadon would probably just let him die, anyways. 

* * *

It _could_ be his father’s fault. He’s the one who brought the snake into it.

Lloyd doesn’t know where he got it — maybe Harumi decided to go the full nine yards and resurrect the Great Devourer while she was on a roll. It’d be a weird choice, because it kinda murdered her parents, but with what Lloyd’s seen of her, he wouldn’t put it _past_ her ambition for destroying literally everything she can get her hands on. 

In all honesty, though, it’s probably not even the Great Devourer. His mom’s betting on a lost descendent or overlooked relative, and Ronin’s got money on Garmadon having cooked up some twisted version of it just to get the jump on them. Skylor seemed a little green at both ideas, and Nya had simply said it didn’t matter which it was, nothing was gonna stop her from mounting its head as a decorative wall display. 

Pixal’s the only one Lloyd really listened to, though, because she was the one to confirm that his actions hadn’t been in vain. She was the to look him dead in the eye, vivid green meeting his dull red, and tell him that there wasn’t a trace of venom that had spread beyond his arm. 

Lloyd hadn’t heard Mystake’s echoing confirmation, but that’s probably because he’d been crying, which seems to be an inconvenient habit he’s picked up since he hacked his own arm off. 

The very idea of it is _definitely_ Lloyd’s fault, probably for watching so many zombie movies with Kai at two in the morning. The dumb part is that he’d actually been _winning_ , he’d been this close to getting some mediocre sort of revenge on Harumi, when he’d felt the sharp, twin stabs of pain on his hand mid-strike, looked down to see a horrifyingly familiar serpent with its fangs locked around his the pale skin of his hand, and frozen. 

The next thirty seconds went a little something like this: 

Lloyd tries not to scream. He knows what this means, because there’s a giant stupid chunk of his life that’s revolved around this kind of snake. There is no small amount of terror associated with this knowledge. 

So his mind rationalizes — the snake bite is like a zombie bite. He’s been infected. When you get infected in a zombie movie, you cut the infected limb off, so you don’t become a dead-brained flesh-devouring monster. 

There are five seconds for debate. Lloyd doesn’t want to cut a limb off, but he doesn’t want to become a dead-brained flesh-devouring monster either. 

What follows is a bit of a panicked blur. Lloyd looks down at his hand and sees the dark purple venom spreading through the veins. Lloyd looks at the sword in his other hand. Lloyd has a brief, vivid image of himself with his father’s face, laughing cruelly as he tries to crush everyone he loves to tiny bits. The next thing he knows, his sword is a whole lot bloodier, his right side feels several pounds lighter, Harumi looks like she’s about to throw up, and Lloyd is suddenly in a rather intense amount of pain. 

Nya tells him that it was one of the worst moments of her life, but she does admit that for a brief, half a second’s time, the look of absolute terror on Harumi’s face at seeing Lloyd hack his own arm off with all the casualness in the world was the best thing she’s seen this year. 

_Someone could’ve at least taken a picture_ , he thinks dully. What’s the point of severing your own limb in front of your enemy if you aren’t even gonna get the satisfaction of seeing them scream like a baby about it?

* * *

Nya decides to stay up all night making the final adjustments to the prosthetic, so Lloyd stays up with her. He’s more hindrance then help, flinging suggestions at her every few minutes. Nya rolls her eyes at him way more than he deserves, though — because alright, he gets that a side dispenser for making hot chocolate and extra jet engines so he can fly are kinda out of the practical realm, but there’s nothing wrong with a canon for an arm, or hand tasers, or cool laser-shooters like in Fritz Donnegan—

“Except that it’d add way too much weight, and your arm would start bleeding all over the place again.”

“That’s…no it wouldn’t,” Lloyd says, lamely. 

“Oh, are you the medical expert now?” Nya raises an eyebrow at him.

“No, but it’s not like _you_ are,” Lloyd raises both eyebrows back, then frowns, expression screwing up as he tries to raise only the one like Nya. 

Nya gives a snorting giggle. “Stop trying,” she says, shaking her head even as she smiles. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“How do you even do that, anyways,” Lloyd mutters, abandoning his attempts.

“It’s a genetic and unattainable gift,” Nya says, and Lloyd snorts this time.

“Sure. Is being totally _lame_ genetic too?”

“Apparently being a persistent _brat_ is for you,” Nya sets the wrench down emphatically. “I’m trying to make you something functional, not a full-blown weapon.”

“But _I’m_ a full-blown weapon,” Lloyd argues. Nya doesn’t reply, and Lloyd is suddenly aware of how heavy his words echo in the room, the subtext that kind of sentence has.

Oops. He can’t make one joke without it going sour lately, can he.

“You’re a lot more than that,” Nya says quietly, a slightly-heartbroken look written across her expression. Lloyd bites his lip. Great, now he’s made her _sad_ again.

He looks down, eyes catching on the empty sleeve of the sweatshirt he’s wearing. Lloyd glances surreptitiously up at Nya, then twists his body slightly, tilting it forward. The empty sleeve smacks Nya on the arm once, twice, before she turns a disbelieving look on him.

“Really?”

Lloyd gives her an unapologetic grin. “I need a super cool laser arm in there, Nya.”

She gives a long-suffering sigh, but Lloyd is pleased to spot the amusement on her face, the way her forehead eases out of its furrowed tension. “You’re getting a nice, sturdy, functional arm. That’s all.”

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Lloyd pleads. “What if I run into Harumi again? Wouldn’t it be great if like, she tried to grab me, and I zapped her with my high-power arm taser?”

There’s a beat of silence as Nya considers this excellent point. “Arguments…can be made for a taser,” she admits.

Lloyd gives a quiet whoop of victory. He then turns an extra-bright, fully sincere, wide-eyed smile on her. Nya steadily refuses to look at him, but her fingers slow a bit on the wires, and she gives another, weary sigh.

“….I’ll _consider_ the laser hand.”

* * *

The arm _is_ functional, sleek and shiny and sturdy metal made for battle. Nya, dark circles beneath her eyes as Lloyd tries to shoo her off to bed, hazily promises that she’s gonna make him one that’s more comfortable too, one that’s not for fighting, maybe they can paint a bunch of cool green designs on it, and stuff—

Ronin gets ahold of her by that point, and Pixal takes over the final adjustments while he tosses her on a couch next to Skylor, telling her to make sure she _stays_. All that’s left after that is for Pixal to attach it, which, for all that Lloyd had been preparing himself for a prosthetic, is something he hadn’t actually thought through. 

“In order for it to function, we’ll need to attach it to the nerve endings left in your arm,” Pixal explains, and there’s an apologetic look in her eyes Lloyd _really_ doesn’t like. “I’ll be as gentle as possible, but it will…hurt quite a bit, I’m afraid.”

Understatement of the _year_. Lloyd makes it through the surgery without passing out, but it’s a close thing. 

Once it’s attached, though, he’s pleased to find that it moves how he wants it, the sight of his right fist curling, even if metal, somewhat bizarre. He’s got two arms again. He’s not completely useless anymore, he can _fight_ , he can—

Hurt, apparently. Lloyd can _hurt_ , every movement and every hour, building up into a savage sort of agony where the arm meets the scarred flesh of his shoulder. It’s to be expected, Pixal explains, since everything’s still fresh and tender in there, but Lloyd is _sick and tired_ of being in pain, _sick and tired_ of sleepless nights trying not to scream into his pillow, and no amount of reassurances that it’ll get better soon help with that.

Because the ache _doesn’t_ lessen. With every minute the prosthetic’s on it just gets worse, fiery bolts of pain flaring at the ends of the nerves. It _hurts_ , and Lloyd _knew_ it would, but _FSM_ this is — it’s — 

He swallows, flexing the fingers of his good hand — his _only_ real hand — and watches the smooth, unhindered way they move. He looks at the cold metal of the prosthetic, biting back a hiss of pain as he forces the metal fingers to move clumsily. He can barely make the stupid elbow bend without wanting to tear the entire arm off. 

…this is a lot harder than he thought it’d be.

Lloyd shifts in his perch high up in the warehouse rafters, listening to the others talking below. He should join them, really, he’s supposed to be the leader here, but…he needs a minute. A minute to adjust, that’s all. 

Lloyd leans his head back against the wall, exhaling heavily. He misses when the worst he’d have to worry about was the ache in his ankle when it rained. 

And it’s stupid, but Lloyd also finds himself missing like — he misses his fingernails, misses the little tapping sound they’d make, he misses that patch of freckles he had on his forearm and the one weird scar he’d picked up on his index finger, he misses the warmth when he knits his hands together, he misses being able to _feel_ warmth beneath his fingers, and he misses—

Lloyd stares at the metal hand, and feels the icy grip of fear enclosing around his heart again. He hasn’t tried to use his powers yet. Hasn’t even mustered up a spark, not that he _could_. He doesn’t even have any powers to use, and he might not get them back, so it’s useless to speculate right now. 

But what if — if he does, then…can the arm channel it? Will it be able to handle the green power, or will it blow straight up where its attached to him? How’s this gonna affect _that?_

Lloyd swallows, lowering the clenched metal fist into his lap. Whatever, he thinks dully. It’s not like his power is something he’s gonna need to worry about anytime _soon_. 

* * *

“Is he dead?”

“Ronin, _please_ -“

“I think he’s dead.”

“Left side, Lloyd,” Nya sighs, hovering over him. “You gotta lead with your left now. Remember?”

Lloyd groans in reply, throwing an arm over his face where he’s sprawled across the training mat. “ _Ngh_.”

Nya hesitates, shifting from her right to left foot. “I didn’t hit you that hard, did I?”

“No, I’m just a dumbas-“

“ _Lloyd_.”

“Dumb, dumb, I’m super dumb, that’s what I was saying.”

“No, you’re not,” Nya says, grabbing his arm — the good one — and hauling him to his feet. “You just keep forgetting to lead with your left side.”

“Yeah, you said that,” Lloyd mutters, rubbing his side. He rolls his shoulder, wincing at the aching pain in the prosthetic that he’s slowly becoming familiar with. The ache’s finally lessened, though — it isn’t in constant agony as often, and he’s starting to sleep more than two hours at a time. 

“Then _do_ it.”

Lloyd gives her a plaintively pouting look, and Nya rolls her eyes. “Puppy eyes aren’t gonna cut in in battle.”

Lloyd huffs. “I’ve led with my right side my whole life,” he defends. “Besides, isn’t the point of this—“ he waves the metal arm aloft, trying not to wince at the unfamiliar added weight. “—so that I _can_ hit with my right side?”

“Yes, eventually,” Nya says, eyeing Lloyd’s movements, and he shifts the arm self-consciously. “But you’re barely able to move it above your shoulders now, much less throw a hit with it.”

Lloyd scowls. “I can throw a hit with it.”

Nya raises an eyebrow, and _ooh_ , Lloyd knows _that_ look. “Then prove it,” she says. 

“Uh oh,” Skylor mutters beneath her breath. Pixal looks between the two of them in alarm. Ronin makes an odd noise that sounds a bit like a laugh. 

Lloyd meets Nya’s gaze head-on with his own stubborn glare. “I _will_.”

“ _Uh_ oh,” Skylor repeats. Pixal steps between them, looking even more concerned. “I don’t believe this is a good idea, Lloyd’s arm is still-“

“Alright then,” Nya says, ignoring the others. She steps past the training mat, walking over to the punching bag they’ve strung up. She taps the solid fabric, her nails making an muffled clacking noise. “Show me you can hit someone with it. Show me you can hit them hard.”

Lloyd squares his jaw, stepping over to her. “Fine-“

“ _And_ ,” Nya continues, louder. “Show me you can hit them _without_ immediately doubling over in pain.”

Lloyd’s breath rushes out in a quiet exhale, and he avoids her eyes. Right, okay. He hasn’t been hiding it as good as he’d thought. Great. 

“Fine,” he repeats, more muted this time. He rolls his shoulders, glaring at the bag. He can’t back down now. This isn’t just about him using his right side, this is about Nya ever letting him outside again, about her ever letting him within fifty feet of a battle again. If Lloyd can’t prove that he’s not a walking liability, then Nya’s probably gonna bench him _forever_. Or at least until the guys are back. 

And the thing is, Lloyd would get it. She has reason. 

So he’s gotta prove to her, right here, right now, that he _can_ fight. Lloyd’s not worried about possible damage — Nya built the arm, and he already trusts her with his life and more. He is…slightly concerned that he’s about to put himself in a lot of unnecessary pain, but he’ll just have to suck it up. He can cry into his pillow later. 

Nya gives a barely audible, weary sigh. “You don’t have to,” she says, quietly. 

Lloyd doesn’t reply, squaring back and setting up instead. His jaw clenches as he pulls his arm back, metal fingers curling into a tight fist. _Show me you can hit someone_ , right? Lloyd’s gonna show her he can _wreck_ someone. He doesn’t care about the recoil, he’s gonna give this all he’s got. He’s gonna pour every ounce of frustration and anger and fear into this punch, every last hour spent in pain and every sleepless night because of that pain, every single time he’s felt so stupidly useless because his arm is gone—

Lloyd’s fist _slams_ against the bag, the force rippling back through his arm as he yells, already half-bracing for the rest of the recoil.

It doesn’t come. The weight of the bag gives under Lloyd’s hit with a loud metallic snapping sound, and before he can even finish following through with the strike there’s an thundering _crunch_ of wood, and—

“Holy _shit_.”

The fact that nobody calls Ronin out on his language is probably a bad sign, Lloyd thinks. He looks up, shaking the mild pain in his shoulder out as he does, and follows everyone else’s gazes. His mouth falls open. 

“It wasn’t supposed to do _that!_ ” he yelps, staring in horror at where there’s a _hole_ in the wall. He blinks rapidly, realizing that the punching bag’s gone — did he hit it hard enough to do that? Lloyd suddenly wants to curse a lot worse than Ronin. He doesn’t have his powers right now, and even then, he’s not _Cole_ , how in the _world_ did he hit it that hard?

“I believe you made the arm strong enough,” Pixal finally says. 

“No _duh_ ,” Skylor says, gaping at the shattered chain the bag hung from. 

“You sent it through the wall,” Nya says faintly, staring at the hole. “That was one punch. And I was gonna have you start throwing hits at _me_.”

“Why did you make it this strong?!” Lloyd clutches his metal arm, staring at it in slight terror. “I could _kill_ somebody with this!”

“Yes,” Nya nods. Lloyd gapes at her. Why does she sound _satisfied_ with that? Nya looks at the splintered wall, then back to Lloyd, he eyes raking over his arm. 

“Okay,” she says, shaking her head and grinning. “You win. Lead with your right side this time.”

Lloyd glances at the metal arm, then back up at Nya, wide-eyed. “I’ll, uh, I’ll save that for Harumi, I think,” he says, weakly. “Let’s go left side.”

Nya snorts, but her expression is lighter than it’s been in days. “Alright then, green machine,” she says, bringing her arms up in a fighting stance. “Show me what you got.”

Lloyd brings his own arms up, and feels a thrill of excitement as he doesn’t immediately stumble off-balance from the weight difference. “Oh I’ll show you,” he grins. “I’ll take you _down_.”

Lloyd is, in fact, the one that gets taken down, but for the twenty full minutes he’s able to hold his own against Nya, the added strength of the arm giving him an advantage that almost outweighs the disadvantage the pain adds, Lloyd feels like he might just have a chance.

* * *

“Hey, hey Nya.”

A sigh. “Yes, Lloyd?”

“I’m going on live TV for this speech thing.”

“I’m aware.”

“Everyone’s going to see me with it.”

“…yeah. You okay with that?”

“Oh, yeah. I was just gonna say that it’s extremely important to me.”

“What is?”

“That I show up on the TV with a totally kick-ass dragon arm.”

Another, longer sigh. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

Lloyd is starting to suspect that he may be repressing things. Maybe, just a bit. 

Not that he hasn’t repressed stuff before — he’s currently repressing the ten tons worth of high-pitched screaming into the void that came along with Harumi bringing his dad back as a hollow shell, and he’s been doing fine with that one. Lloyd’s a pro at repressing stuff. If he wasn’t the Green Ninja, he’d have been like, the elemental master of repressing your emotions until _you_ don’t even know why you’re crying in the shower this time. 

But the fact that he’s lost an entire arm and has yet to fully experience any kind of overwhelming reaction about it is…probably concerning. Like yeah, he’s been frustrated, he’s been scared, he’s been in pain more often than he’s not and that _sucks_ , but he doesn’t seem to have really had the appropriate reaction to fully losing a limb and all that it entails yet. Or at least that’s what he _thinks_ Nya is trying to tell him. 

(And yeah, he gets that she’s concerned, _everyone’s_ concerned about him, when is anybody _not_ concerned about Lloyd and his idiotic life decisions, but—)

Naturally, it’s going to be during _this_ conversation that he hits his breaking point. 

“Look, I know it’s second nature and that _zero_ of the guys have been any kind of good example, but you’ve got to drop the blame-yourself, brood-in-silent-guilt thing.”

Lloyd hand tightens where he’s gripping the edge of the table, and he feels a sudden urge to yank his arm from Nya’s hold and run. 

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” he tries. 

She cuts him a look. “Really? You’re gonna lie to me too?”

Lloyd whips his head away, staring resolutely at the wall furthest from him. “It was my fault,” he finally says, his voice thin in the quiet of the little room they’re hiding out in. “So that’s that."

Nya exhales tiredly, the sound of someone who’s heard something one too many times. Lloyd feels a kind of hot frustration spark in his gut at the sound. 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it _was_ ,” Lloyd grinds out, angrier than he means to be. “It’s my fault — I’m the one who cut it off, Nya—”

“You didn’t have a _choice_ ,” she snaps back. There’s an angry sort of sheen building in her eyes, and Lloyd _hates_ himself. “It was that or the venom, he didn’t leave you any other opti-“

Something snaps in Lloyd’s chest, and he feels control slip through his hands like a fine stream of water. 

“It’s _my_. _Fault!_ ” he bursts out at her, and Nya looks taken aback. Lloyd can’t stop himself — he doesn’t know _why_ he’s so upset about this, he doesn’t know _why_ this is so important, but there’s something wild clawing at his chest screaming that it _has_ to be his fault, it has to be—

“It was _my_ choice!” he continues shrilly, breathing harder than he does in training. “ _I_ was the one who decided to cut it off, _I_ was the one who chose not to be like _him_ , it was _my_ choice, not Garmadon’s, _mine_ , stop trying to take that _away_ from me—!”

Lloyd’s rant cuts off in a sob, and he stumbles from the table, yanking the arm to him and trying to force back the raging emotion that’s broken loose. Nya stares at him with wide eyes, frozen in shock. Realization breaks across her face like a tidal wave, and her eyes soften, her expression shifting into something that makes Lloyd want to cry harder. He quickly turns away, frantically scrubbing at his eyes as he tries to get himself under control. This is _terrible_ , this is _humiliating_ , Lloyd is a disgrace to the Green Ninja and everything that everyone’s done to make sure he’s gotten this far, but—

Lloyd chokes on another sob. It’s just like the tea, it’s just like the _stupid tea_. Everyone tried to tell him that he didn’t have a choice then too, insisting that potential death doesn’t really give you much of a choice, and Lloyd couldn’t get them to see — he couldn’t get them to see that it _was_ his choice. Just like Lloyd made the choice to cut his arm off instead of falling to the same cursed blood his father did. Those were _his_ choices, those were _Lloyd’s_ decisions, he made them _himself_ , and that’s important because - because - 

Because if Lloyd didn’t have the choice to grow older, if he didn’t have the choice to become the Green Ninja, if he really hasn’t had a choice in _anything_ like that — then what kind of life does that leave him with?

“Okay.”

Lloyd’s head snaps up, and he looks at Nya through watery eyes. 

“Okay,” she repeats, gently. “It was your choice. I agree.”

Something a little too dizzying to be relief swoops through him, and Lloyd slumps back against the table, his side hitting it a bit too hard as he breathes out shakily, wiping at his eyes. 

“Okay,” he echoes, his voice thick. 

“But—“ Nya takes a step closer to him, but she doesn’t touch him. She looks hesitant, but her jaw is set in that stubborn sort of determination Nya always has. “That doesn’t mean it’s all your fault. You…you have your choice. Let Garmadon own up to his, too.”

Lloyd can’t meet her eyes for that one, but he doubts it’d make a difference anyways, because they keep blurring over so much. Which is ridiculous, because _how_ does Lloyd even have enough hydration left to keep crying all over the place like this—

Nya blows her breath out, and leans up against the table next to him, her shoulder just brushing his left one. Lloyd shifts his hold on the metal arm, and lets the tension in his shoulders ease, leaning into her. 

“And for what it’s worth?” 

Lloyd looks at Nya, and she gives him a crooked smile. 

“I don’t love it, obviously, and if you ever try that again, I’ll — well, you know, but…I think you might’ve made the right choice.”

Lloyd’s humiliated himself enough today, but he can’t stop his eyes from flooding over again.

“Thank you,” he croaks, and Nya grabs his shoulder, pulling him to her so their heads bump briefly together.

“You’re Lloyd,” she tells him. “Not Garmadon. You’re my brother, and you’re _good_.” 

She shakes her head, giving a wet laugh. 

“You’re too stubborn to be anything other than that, clearly.”


	2. Chapter 2

The funny thing about life as a _ninja extraordinaire_ , is that there are certain things that you can _totally_ suppress, and never deal with ever. Like, they might still _be_ there, lurking in the dark corners of your mind like vaguely threatening mold or something, and sure, one of these days they could blossom into actual _issues_ , and then threaten to destabilize whatever’s left of your emotional stability, but you can at least ignore them for a while. And if you’re Lloyd —which he is — you can get really good at ignoring them, to the point where you almost forget they’re there half the time. Bam, problems solved. 

But as it turns out, unfortunately, there are also some things that you just _can’t_.

One of those, even more unfortunately, happens to be losing, say, an entire limb. And to top off the entire stack of unfortunateness — the unfortunatetest — most unfortunate? — part about the whole thing: Lloyd currently happens to fall into the second category. 

(Will always fall into the second category, he doesn’t know why he’s saying _currently_ , it’s not like his arm is gonna grow _back_ —)

Anyways. Lloyd has finally met an issue that he can’t ignore, and that’s…another issue, he guesses. Oh, he’s _tried_ , but walking off a lost arm is just a lot more difficult than ignoring trauma, or a broken rib or something.

“But I mean, it also could have been a leg, and then I’d have _real_ trouble walking it off, haha, get it?”

“There are so many concerning things in that essay’s worth of words you just threw at me, I don’t even know where to start,” Nya sighs. 

“Aw, c’mon,” Lloyd nudges her shoulder with his fist from where he sits in the battle wagon next to her, metal fingers clanking oddly against her shoulder armor. “That wasn’t even my worst pun.”

“That’s not what I’m referring to, and you know it,” Nya side-eyes him. Then, after a beat— “And that one was low-hanging fruit. I know you can do better.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll come up with something better when we’re not running on zero hours of sleep,” Lloyd yawns, propping his elbows up on the dashboard and leaning against them, scrubbing at his eyes. He flinches back at the cold of his metal hand, and scowls at it instead, as if its inability to create heat like a normal limb is a personal insult. He lets it fall limp against the dashboard with a dull clank, laying his normal, warm _human_ arm on top, and using that as a pillow. 

He then squeezes his eyes shut, enjoying the brief relief from the thundering headache he’s had the last few days, before screwing them back open. Nya is staring at him fully now, face pinched in concern. Lloyd thinks that’s rather unfair, because her eyes are every bit as bloodshot as his, and he’s definitely caught her wincing from a headache of her own like, six times today already. 

“Lloyd.”

“What.”

Nya sighs again — she’s been doing that a lot lately — and finally takes her hands off the wheel, leaning back in her seat, pulling her leg up and wrapping her arm around her knee. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?” Lloyd says petulantly, knowing full well what she’s talking about.

Nya knows too, because she gives him a _look_. “Ignore that kind of stuff,” she says, waving a hand absently in the air. “Trauma, and whatnot.”

“I’m not ignoring my trauma,” Lloyd rolls his eyes, because they’ve had this conversation a minimum of sixty times now, so he’s ready for it. “I’m just waiting until I have a thing of ice cream big enough to cry it all out over.”

He’s probably going to need an entire ice cream parlor at this point, he muses—

“I’m serious, Lloyd.”

“Uh-huh,” he mutters, burying his face in his arms. “Sure. You wanna talk about Nadakhan while we’re at it, then?”

Nya sucks in a breath, and Lloyd feels a hot flash of guilt for having brought it up. 

But like — it’s _true_. If he’s gotta sort out his issues, then Nya needs to, as well. Fair’s fair, and she needs _someone_ looking out for her. Even if Lloyd’s been doing a pretty terrible job of it lately. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs anyways.

Nya presses her lips together, then shakes her head. Her eyes are far away, staring out across the ruined city through the windshield. “No,” she says, her voice a whisper. “No, you’re right. I — you’re right.”

“Well, I’m sorry for _that_ , too.” 

Because he wishes he wasn’t right. He’d _love_ to be wrong, about this. He’d love it if they were all just _fine_ , and the guys were back and cracking jokes with them, and Nya had never died after being nearly forced into some twisted marriage, and the city wasn’t crumbling down around them because his sort-of-ex brought back his dead dad, and Lloyd still had both whole arms, and they were all drinking like, strawberry lemonade on the beach right now or something.

“We’re a real mess, huh,” Nya says, and there’s a sniffled edge in her voice that Lloyd doesn’t like. 

Lloyd bites his lip, then reaches out, uncurling her fingers from where they’ve gone white around the steering wheel, and squeezing her hand lightly instead. “Kai would say we’re hot messes, though.”

Nya snorts, squeezing his hand back, ad Lloyd feels a bubble of warmth at her smile. They sit there in silence for a bit, watching the smokey clouds drift past above, waiting on Pixal or Skylor to finally call in on the radio, and tell them they can move out already. 

Lloyd’s just considering trying for another nap, when Nya speaks up again. 

“Really through. Lloyd, we gotta talk it all out eventually. You don’t wanna end up all emotionally suppressed, like your uncle, do you?”

Lloyd sputters, then glares at her. “You take that back. I’m not gonna end up like Uncle Wu.”

“Oh yeah? Just wait, any day now you’re gonna walk in on us, with a big straw hat on, and say _‘terribly sorry, my loyal ninja, but there’s something I haven’t told you’_ —“

Lloyd throws his mask at her, even as he breaks into snickers at the deep-toned voice she’s using. “I am _not!_ ”

“—you’ll have a beard, too,” Nya continues, grinning. “Like, ten feet long—“

“Ten, please, have you seen my hair? I bet I can do twenty—“

“Oh yeah, Rapunzel? What’cha gonna do then, trip over it into your enemies?”

“No, I’m — I’m gonna strangle them with it.”

That mental image is the final straw for Nya, and she doubles over in loud cackling, stuffing her fist against her mouth to try and silence her laughter. Lloyd’s already dissolved into giggles, but his attempt to keep them quiet sounds a whole lot more like rheumatic wheezing, which only makes them laugh harder. 

“Please,” Nya breathes, when they’ve finally wound down. “Never grow a beard.”

“I dunno,” Lloyd says, stroking his chin, in what he hopes looks like an accurate impression of Uncle Wu. “I think I got the face for it—”

“You don’t.”

“Ouch, right in the heart.”

“It’s for your own good, bud.”

“We’ll see what Kai says.”

“He’s gonna agree with me, and you know it.”

“ _Hmph_.”

“…and Lloyd?”

“Hm?”

“ ‘Unfortunatetest’ isn’t a word.”

“ _You_ aren’t a word.”

The other funny thing about life, though, is that no matter how miserable it gets, it’s always bearable with Nya. 

* * *

Which is probably why Lloyd doesn’t _really_ start to crack until Nya goes down.

“Oh no — oh no, Nya, you’re okay, you’re fine, you’re all good, just — you’re okay—”

“I’m _fine_ , stop telling me what I already know,” Nya gets out, through gritted teeth against the pain. She couldn’t be more clearly not fine, but between the two of them, they seem to believe that if they can _say_ it’s fine enough, it’ll all work out. It’ll be just fine. Nya just had a car fall on her and probably shattered her arm but it’s — it’s fine, she hasn’t lost it yet, and if it comes down to it, she can have his other arm, because Nya is _not_ losing a limb today. 

Between him and Dareth, they finally manage to get the car — the entire _car_ , Lloyd is losing the battle to panic by the second — off Nya, and Lloyd’s right back at her side to worry more. Nya shrugs him off, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain as she struggles to rise, wobbling in place. 

But she still pushes herself _up_ , on her feet, and picks up her spear with her good arm, and Lloyd decides for like, the tenth time this week, that Nya is the strongest person he knows. Right up there with Skylor, who’s actually _insane_ , as it turns out, holding off an entire Colossi with his father’s stolen power — Skylor’s incredible.

But Skylor’s also currently unconscious in the battle wagon, and now Nya’s in severe pain and down an arm, and she doesn’t have a handy — a _ha_ —replacement like Lloyd does. And Pixal’s in Kryptarium so all that’s left of the ninja is _Lloyd_ , and Dareth looking to him for answers, and Lloyd should be used to this, he’s _leader_ , he could practically write the book on being in desperate, all-consuming-panic situations like this, but—

Harumi’s _dead_. Lloyd’s powers are gone, and people are _dying_ now. Because of his dad, because of this _stupid_ vengeance spree, because of _him_. 

Lloyd’s eyes smart painfully, and he tightens his grip on Nya’s good arm, wondering, not for the first time, how in the _world_ it had all come to this. 

“We need to — we need to—” Nya cuts off, biting the inside of her cheek. Her composure falters, and Lloyd can see the same hopeless sort of exhaustion in her eyes, the weeks of running on fumes taking their toll. They need to get moving, they _need_ to regroup, but there’s no one to regroup with. It’s just them, Lloyd and Nya, and they might be able to function independently better than anyone else but they’re also _chronic_ younger siblings. The reminder that they’re _not supposed to be alone_ is driven so deeply into their heads that it’s not even _annoying_ anymore. 

Not when they’re so very, very alone now. 

“We can fall back,” Lloyd suggests, his voice wavering. “We can—” He swallows. _Hide_ feels cowardly, but even he knows it’d be useless to suggest, anyways. They’ve run out of hiding places from Garmadon. He’d find them, Lloyd knows he will. His father is a lot of things right now, and _relentless_ is one of the stronger ones. 

“We can move, at least,” Dareth says, panic tinging his voice. “Those Sons of Garmadon will be on us any minute.”

It’s not Dareth’s fault, but it certainly feels a lot like karma as, at that very second, the sound of motorcycles echoes down the street, mixed with the familiar cries of the Sons of Garmadon. 

They all go tense. Nya and Lloyd look at each other, and Lloyd wonders if the expression of fear on her face is mirrored on his, or if he looks closer to terror. 

Either way, he’s frozen in place, and that’s _bad_ , because they’re all frozen now. Maybe this is it. Maybe they’ve finally run out of the will to keep going. Maybe this is for the better. At least it’s not his father. 

But then he remembers that they’ll probably take him to his father anyways, and if Lloyd didn’t have terror on his face before, he does now. 

The loud roars of the motorcycles are circling now, and if Lloyd’s right, they’ve got barely a minute left before they’re surrounded. That’s not enough time to make it out. Not with everyone, not with the condition they’re in.

And Lloyd’s not about to leave anyone behind.

Nya sucks in a shaky breath, her face white from pain as her bad arm shifts. “Lloyd, do you — do you have any ideas?”

Lloyd stares up at the smoke rising above the city, _his_ city, and the skin that meets his prosthetic throbs. His head does too, exhaustion mixed with pain mixed with dying adrenaline leaving him sick. 

_You’ve failed, Green Ninja. Your father won this round._

Like he does _every_ round, Lloyd thinks bitterly. Morro had it right, back in Styx. He doesn’t deserve to be the Green Ninja. Not when he can’t win the fights that matter.

But he’s still _Lloyd_. He’s still Nya’s little brother, and even Garmadon can’t take that from him if he tried. So he shakes his head, croaking out, “Sorry, I’m stumped.”

It takes Nya a minute longer than usual, her eyes confused in her pale and dirt-stained face, but then—

She slumps against him, wheezing out what could be a laugh. “If that was an another arm pun, I _swear—”_

Lloyd tries to keep his face passively blank, but he can’t help the breathless huff of laughter that escapes. It very quickly threatens to turn into hyperventilating, so he cuts it off quickly. They all step closer to each other, forming a tight circle as the motorcycles roar into view, and Lloyd’s knuckles turn white with the fist he’s making. 

He almost says _I’m sorry,_ because it feels like what he should say right now, him and his whole sorry bloodline and everything that’s led to this. But Nya would probably hit him if he did that, and get that sad _look_ on her face, so he doesn’t. 

“This would be a really good time for the guys to get back,” Lloyd finally says instead, a bit hollowly. Nya gives him a weak smile that threatens to crack into despair as they’re surrounded, the blinding headlights from the Sons of Garmadon pinning them in place. 

But maybe, just maybe, karma is on their side after all. Because, not half a second after Lloyd’s said those words, the sky opens up and roaring out from the bright portal, filthy and battered but _alive_ , come the super late — like _so_ late, for real, Lloyd’s gonna give them _heck_ for this — rest of their family. 

Lloyd doesn’t think he’s ever been happier to see his big brother’s ridiculous, spiky head of hair in his whole entire _life_. 

* * *

In the euphoria of reuniting with the guys and his uncle, Lloyd kind of forgets that he’s lost an arm for a second. He also forgets that the last time the guys saw him, he might have been a half-dead mess on Mystaké’s kitchen table, but he also had both arms. So it’s probably not — not the _best_ of welcome back surprises he could’ve offered. 

But the thing is, Lloyd’s at least been thinking his arm looked fine now. Like, it’s obviously not his _arm_ arm anymore, but it’s a whole lot better than the ugly empty space that _was_ there. And Nya put the dragon on and everything, so he can look _sick_ when he either defeats his father or dies horribly. 

But for all that it _looks_ fine, the guys’ faces still go ten shades of white when they finally catch sight of it.

Lloyd thinks that’s rather unfair, considering they just burst out of the sky on a bunch of dragons after having been presumed dead, but he’s not gonna pick _now_ to argue with them.

“Wha — how — what — is that—” Kai, predictably, is the first to go to pieces, his eyes wide as dinner plates in his dirt-stained face, his fingers hovering shakily over the metal arm as if touching it will make it real. 

“Your arm,” Jay informs him blankly, gaping at him. “It’s gone?”

Oh, Lloyd’s _aware_. 

“Yeah, it’s uh, it’s gone,” he explains, quickly. Then, because he needs to see a different expression on their faces than horrified shock— “It’s — it’s pretty dis _arm_ ing, haha, right?”

Kai looks like he’s either going to combust on the spot or physically smack him.

In the end, he makes this heartbreaking kind of “oh _Lloyd_ ” at him before throwing his arms around him, then immediately jumping to the absolute worst conclusions possible. 

“Was it your dad — it was your dad, right? Was it Harumi? It must’ve been your dad, oh I’ll _kill_ him, I’ll _slaughter_ him for you Lloyd, I swear to _FSM_ —”

This is followed by a general meltdown of “ _if only I’d been here_ ,” which spirals into self-blame pretty fast, which Lloyd neither wants nor needs to happen right now (nor thinks is accurate, what could any of them have done anyways), so he throws Nya a desperate look. 

“Look, stuff happened, okay?” she says, shouldering her way between Lloyd and the guys, wincing as her wrapped arm pulls. “The city’s on fire and Lloyd’s down an arm, we dealt with it. Right now we need to focus, because Garmadon and the Colossi are still out there, so _please_ tell me those dragons are going to help us out.”

Again, Nya is one of Lloyd’s favorite people in the entire universe. 

This distracts them enough that they momentarily get off Lloyd’s back, though he has a feeling he’s either gonna have to answer two hundred questions later or find a really good hiding spot. 

But that’s a problem for a different Lloyd to worry about, and this one needs to focus on his father. And the fact that his uncle now looks ten times younger and is, much more importantly, about to let him ride on his dragon. 

Lloyd’s halfway to the dragon when Cole catches him. He doesn’t grab him or anything, just touches his arm gently, his eyes horribly sad. “ _Lloyd_ ,” he murmurs.

Something in Lloyd’s chest twists. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. How is he supposed to pretend _he’s_ not sad when they’ve all got this look on their faces?

“It’s fine,” he blusters, with a smile that is only half-forced. Fortunately, he has this part rehearsed by now. “It’s not a big deal — it doesn’t even hurt or anything. Don’t worry about it.”

Cole looks like he has every single intention of worrying about it, because Cole is Cole, but Lloyd can’t even find it in himself to be annoyed because he’s missed them so, _so_ much. Sure, he’s mad at himself for giving them something to immediately worry about the second they even get back to the realm, but Lloyd’s too happy to see them at all to mind that much.

Plus, there’s like, a fifty-fifty chance his father is about to kill him pretty soon anyways, so he tries to enjoy it while he can. He’s sure Uncle Wu will do his best, but unless he’s got something big up his sleeve — besides the, uh, age thing — Lloyd isn’t so sure.

Winning against Garmadon isn’t something he’s ever been particularly good at, even with both arms. 

* * *

Lloyd wins this round.

Somehow, _somehow_ — bruised and bloodied and down an entire arm — he wins this one. It’s almost surreal, standing on top of Borg Tower, the wind whipping eerily around them as he stares down at his father, kneeling on the ground before him. His father, _defeated_. Lloyd didn’t have to break this time, he didn’t even have to bend. He defeated his father, without his powers, without any cursed venom fueling him, and without his arm.

Take _that_ , you stupid snake. 

Well — technically. _Technically_ , he _did_ defeat his father with his arm, because there are going to be some spectacular bruises on Garmadon where he got sucker-punched by a solid metal fist in the morning. But still.

Lloyd didn’t have to kill him. Not this time. 

The relief that hits him is so dizzyingly _crushing_ , he almost throws up. 

But oh, it _figures_. The one time Lloyd can end things with his dad alive, and it’s the time his dad _hates_ him. 

But Lloyd knows a little too well that things could’ve ended a lot worse. He’s got his family back, his _whole_ family, Kai and Jay and Cole and Zane and the people that have stuck through the worst of it with him, and that’s more than enough for Lloyd to be happy. He doesn’t die, they win back the city, and Kai only cries about it like three times, so honestly, it’s almost the best he could hope for. The worst part is out of the way now, so really — it should be smooth sailing from here. The guys are upset about the arm thing, obviously, but it’s not really that big a deal. Lloyd just has to convince them of that, which shouldn’t be a problem. 

A piece of cake, compared to the last few weeks. Besides, he’s already been through the worst of it. 

* * *

As is his luck, Lloyd finds himself eating his words half a week later. 

“First _Master_ —“

Lloyd chokes back a curse, stumbling out from bed as quietly as he can, teeth clacking as he clenches them together to keep from making any more noise. The guys don’t move, still solidly asleep, but that’s going to change real quick if Lloyd starts cursing up a storm over his stupid _arm_. 

He bumps into the doorway on the way out and almost screams, biting his lip hard instead and fleeing down the hallway. Ow, ow, _ow_. He must’ve rolled his shoulder into his sword sometime in the night, because that’s what it _feels_ like, a horrible kind of deep ache that leaves him wanting to sever what’s left of his limb as he stumbles into the kitchen. At least then, there would be less to _hurt_.

Lloyd passes by the several large windows in the apartment they’ve been staying in, and his heart immediately sinks. It’s dark outside, but the city lights illuminate the growing clouds above, and he can spot the flash of lightning in the distance. If the slight buzz in his blood at the oncoming storm wasn’t enough to clue him in, the building pressure in the atmosphere certainly is. 

And he used to _like_ rain, Lloyd thinks miserably, leaning his head briefly against the wall. 

There’s a distant roll of thunder, and something in his arm — his _stump_ , there _is_ no arm there to hurt, that should _help_ — throbs, deep and aching. Lloyd squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back the budding tears of pain, and remembers his mission. They went shopping earlier, and he knows for a fact there’s pain killers _somewhere_ in the kitchen. The promise of relief from the pain is enough to spur him from where he’s slumped against the wall, and he drags his feet down the rest of the hall, finally ducking into the kitchen, which is quiet and empty in the late-night hours.

_Great_. Now he’s just gotta find the stuff, and he can — well, he can try to go back to sleep. Maybe he’ll just watch cartoons instead, or stare blankly into oblivion, or something. His shoulder throbs again, and Lloyd forces himself to focus, blowing his breathe out. _Right_. Cole was the last one to take the meds, ‘cause he’s got all those nasty healing cuts. So if he was the one to put the bottle away last, that means it’s probably…on the…top shelf…

Lloyd carefully, quietly drowns the whine of despair in the back of his throat. He’d eat dirt before he admits he’s a _shortie_ , but compared to Cole, _everyone_ is, and Cole has a terrible habit of leaving all the meds on the highest shelf or cabinet possible when he’s done, which are always the ones Lloyd can’t reach. And right now, with the first drops of rain just starting to fleck on the windows, moving his arms anywhere above mid-waist sounds like _death_.

But sitting here with his arm on fire sounds even worse, so death it is. 

Biting the bullet, Lloyd toes the handle on the drawer closest to the floor, bracing his good arm on the counter, and pushes himself up. He wobbles precariously, but he catches himself quickly, breathing out a huff of relief. Now comes the hard part. Gritting his teeth in determination, Lloyd swings his prosthetic arm up as quickly as he can, knocking against the uppermost cabinet and—

Lloyd’s vision blurs out as the pain in his shoulder decides to go nuclear, and he slips back down with a strangled choking sound, clutching the edge of his shoulder and desperately willing himself not to blast through the wall with his powers in agonized frustration. When the pain finally ebbs enough for him to think again, he slumps over the counter, bracing his good shoulder against it and letting the bad one hang loosely, where the pain pulses in and out like a heartbeat. 

_Like death_ , he thinks dully, hissing his breath out through his teeth. Right. Okay. He’ll just — take a nap on the counter then, until he can work himself back up to the cabinet. 

Lloyd cracks an eye open, glaring hotly at the cabinet out of reach. Maybe if he like…rattles it? With his…leg, or something? He can do a pretty impressive high kick, if he tries. Anything not to move his stupid shoulders, because the pain radiating from the prosthetic port is — oh boy, it’s something. 

…with hindsight, he should’ve been prepared for this. But still. 

Lloyd kind of just….crashes on the counter, for as long as he can, but the pain finally gets bad enough that he’s willing to risk more for _any_ kind of relief. Gritting his teeth again — his jaw is beginning to hurt — he squares his shoulders, instantly regretting the action as little lines of agony flare in his right side in tune with the thunder from outside. At that point, Lloyd’s brain finally decides it’s done with the situation on the whole, and he’s backing up to make a running jump for the cabinet, when—

“ _Who’s_ — stand down, I’ll blast you!”

Lloyd aborts his charge just in time to duck the bolt of lightning that flashes through the room with a yelp, sliding to the floor as his momentum sends him crashing into the lower drawers. His vision whites out for a good minute as he whacks his bad shoulder on the metal edge of a handle, and he _might_ make some kind of muffled scream that sounds enough like him for Jay to recognize, because by the time it clears, Jay is staring at him with wide eyes, his face pale but clearly no longer registering Lloyd as a threat. 

Still, just in case— “Don’t shoot,” Lloyd croaks out. “I’m unarmed.”

Jay’s expression spasms, but the crackle of electricity silences, and the blue light extinguishes as he lowers his hands. Lloyd notes the way they’re trembling, despite how hard Jay’s trying to stop it. “Lloyd, _seriously,”_ he mutters, but he’s at Lloyd’s side in a beat, hovering anxiously.

“Are — are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd says, trying not to wince as he shoulder twinges. “I, uh, sorry if I scared you. I was just getting some water.”

Jay looks up to the cabinets, then back to Lloyd, where he’s yet to rise from the floor. He needs to get up already, because he’s got like, an image to keep here, but he’s also too scared that his stump of a limb is going to attempt murder again, and that’s keeping him pretty solidly rooted to the floor. 

“You’re on the floor, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd shoots back, making a face. “Maybe I like it here.”

“Uh- _huh_.” Jay’s expression is narrow-eyed in skepticism, and Lloyd shrinks in on himself a bit. Still, though — the expression is better to see than the stark terror that had been written over Jay’s face when he’d walked in. The remnants of it are still there, if fading quick — Jay doesn’t look quite like _Jay_ yet, bright and happy and quick on the uptake. 

He looks tired, dark circles like bruises beneath his eyes, and his movements are slower than usual, as if perpetually lagging a step behind. Like he’s being dragged down by something, and it’s taking an extra amount of strength to fight it off that’d usually go toward bad jokes.

Which is sad, because Lloyd could really go for a bad joke right now. The atmosphere’s been heavy enough around their little apartment after everything, and it’s only worse now, with Lloyd curled up on the floor and Jay watching his arm with hollow eyes. And that’s not even talking about the actual atmosphere, which is currently trying to make Lloyd consider knocking himself out to escape the pain. Bad Jay jokes would be nice. Lloyd misses having something to laugh about.

But you know what, that’s quitter talk. Lloyd can make bad jokes, too. 

“You uh, you wanna give me an arm up, here?” he says, grinning weakly at Jay. “Could really use a hand, if you get what I’m saying.”

“ _You_ — you’re terrible,” Jay sputters, but he cracks the edge of a smile, and Lloyd silently congratulates himself on that small victory. 

“But you love me.”

It comes out too much of a question, and Lloyd bites his tongue. But Jay’s eyes soften as he pulls him up, and he’s gentle as he does it, so it barely hurts. 

“Yeah, short stuff,” he says. “I do.”

And that’s — Lloyd swallows. That’s too much emotion for him to deal with in Jay’s voice right now, even if it _is_ the kind of reassurance he clings to with a desperation these days. 

“Short stuff,” he scowls instead. “You’re one to talk.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jay grins, a bit weaker than his usual one. “I grew a half an inch in the First Realm, bud. I’ve got you now.”

“No _way_ ,” Lloyd counters, squinting at him. “You look shorter, if anything. I’ve got _you_ now.”

“I do not.” It’s Jay’s turn to scowl. “And please, the only height you’ve gained is your hair. Fluffing it up all crazy does _not_ count.”

Lloyd snorts, despite himself. “ _My_ hair, you should see- _ee_ —” 

His voice abruptly pitches higher, strangling off mid-sentence as a fresh wave of bright pain sears through his shoulder, throbbing with the increased thudding of rain against the window. Lloyd almost bites his tongue in half as he dips forward, words momentarily lost as his teeth grind together. 

Jay’s at his side in an instant. “It’s the storm, isn’t it,” he says, his eyes bright in concern. “Your arm is hurting extra.”

“T-technically, it’s not,” Lloyd breathes out. Words are back online again, that’s good. He exhales, shuddering. “S’just what’s left of it.”

Jay worries his lip, and then realization sparks in his eyes. “You were going for the top cabinet,” he says, slowly. Then— “Cole had the pain meds last, didn't he.”

Lloyd nods, his good hand clutching and un-clutching at his shoulder. Jay makes a sympathetic noise in his throat, then moves for the cabinet himself. He uses the same drawer handle as a step-up that Lloyd did, but he doesn’t wobble, snatching the bottle from the top shelf and stepping down neatly. Thunder shakes through the apartment, and Lloyd squeezes his eyes shut tight, barely conscious of the sound of running water. When he opens them, Jay is in front of him again, a glass of water and four larger pills held out. 

“You look like you could use the extra,” he says, in explanation. 

Lloyd nods gratefully, shoving the pills in his mouth before grabbing the glass and draining it. “Thanks,” he croaks out.

Jay nods, his eyes lingering on Lloyd’s prosthetic. He opens his mouth once, then closes it. Then opens it again, inhaling like he’s gonna say something, then shuts it again. Then again—

“Jay, spit it out.”

“ _CanIlookatit_ ,” Jay blurts out, red immediately rising in his cheeks. 

Lloyd blinks rapidly, trying to parse out the jumble of words. “Can you — huh?”

“Look at it,” Jay repeats, shifting awkwardly. “Your, uh, your arm? The prosthetic one, I mean. Just ‘cause I think I can help it! Help you, I think I can help you, ‘cause you kinda look like it’s hurting you, which would make sense, with the storm, and I might be able to — to help, if that’s not like, a problem with you — if it is that’s fine! I totally get it, I mean if _my_ arm had got — was lost, I’d be—”

“J-Jay, slow — Jay,” Lloyd tries vainly to cut over him once, before succeeding the second time. Lloyd gives him a weak smile, then flops his arm out. He immediately regrets the action, as it feels like he’s shoved a knife or two into his arm. “It’s — _ow_ — fine. You can look at it.”

“Oh! Cool,” Jay says, deflating in relief. “Ah, thanks for trusting me?”

Lloyd waves him off, with his good arm his time. “There’s like, six people left I trust, but I trust ‘em with my life. You’re one of them.”

“Oh,” Jay repeats, but he sounds sad this time. A little too understanding, too, and Lloyd wonders if their entire team isn’t suffering similar issues with putting faith in people, after everything. 

“Here,” Jay says firmly, as if shaking _that_ sobering thought off. He points to the couch, eyeing Lloyd as he winces with the thunder again. “Wanna lie down, so I can look at it?”

“Sure,” Lloyd mutters, flopping down on the couch (and immediately regretting the action, _again_ , you’d think he’d learn by now), lying with his head at the left end so he can spread his prosthetic out on the edge of the cushioned footrest. Jay steps over, carefully sitting down on the floor by him, hands hovering hesitantly over the arm. 

… _his_ arm. His arm, just a bit different. 

“I like the design here,” Jay says quietly, his fingers ghosting over the engraving Nya had put on one quieter day during the Resistance. It’s in the shape of a dragon, like the one of his other spare prosthetic, but this one is a little subtler, almost sketched into the metal. “It’s cool.” 

“Nya did it,” Lloyd says. “And you can touch it, if you want.”

“Oh — yeah,” Jay gives a nervous laugh. “Um. Could I, like, see where it…attaches?”

Lloyd blinks, glancing to where the sleeves of his too-big ( _Kai’s_ ) t-shirt fall well over where the metal arm meets his stump. He swallows, then nods, carefully rolling back the fabric until his shoulder’s exposed. “That good?”

Jay, to his credit, just gives a quiet, hissing little intake of breath, and nods. And it really is to his credit, because while Pixal did all she could, the surgery was — well, Lloyd was in and out during it, but it was haphazard at best, and the scarring it left all up to his shoulder is…

It’s not pretty. And Lloyd’s been thinking he doesn’t mind, but now that he actually has someone _looking_ at it, he’s realizing he might. 

_Time to invest in a lot more long sleeves_ , he thinks dully. 

Jay’s frozen for a second, and Lloyd bites his lip, trying not to squirm as he stares openly at the scarring. Then he shakes his head, bright eyes gaining the steady determination Lloyd knows, and sets to work, fingers carefully skimming one of the compartment edges. 

“Lemme know if anything hurts.”

Lloyd just nods. It’s weird, at first, feeling but not really feeling as Jay fiddles with the arm. He still doesn’t like not being able to _truly_ feel stuff with it, but right now, with the pulsing pain still lingering from the storm outside, he’s almost glad for it. To the point where the idea of feeling _anything_ else in what’s left of his poor arm almost has him flinching away from Jay. 

Jay’s fingers are careful, though, and he finally clicks something in the arm into place that shifts the whole thing, the throbbing pressure on a few particular nerves in Lloyd’s arm letting up some, and his shoulders go loose in relief, the tight rigidness he’s been holding them in easing off. 

“ _Oh_ ,” he exhales in relief, a bit shakily as he sits up. “That’s better. That — _thank you_. That’s a lot better.”

Jay beams, clearly pleased with himself. “No problem, green machine,” he says. “Just glad I can help. I mean, Nya did a great job with it, but the uh — the wires right here, you see? Those can get twisted up if you move around a lot, and that’ll create pressure on the nerves, and then you’ve got the gears _here_ , and…”

Lloyd quickly loses track of Jay’s technical babble, nodding along like he understands instead. His brother’s stream of chatter is a nice sound against the rain in the background, warm and familiar, and Lloyd slowly relaxes further, his shoulders crying in relief as they lose their tension. The meds are kicking in now too, and the pain’s ebbed into something a lot easier to manage. Enough for Lloyd to start feeling guilty, anyways. 

“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” he finally says, after Jay’s wound down from his explanation, ducking his head. 

Jay waves him off. “I was already up, anyways,” he shrugs. “The storm woke me. They…they do that a lot.”

Lightning flashes, as if to echo his statement, and Lloyd notices the twitch that runs through Jay this time, how he almost seems to vibrate with the thunder that follows. 

“Does it bother you?” he asks, a little hesitantly. “The storm?” 

It feels like a silly question, because Jay can practically create storms, he _thrives_ in them, Lloyd’s seem him straight-up catch a lightning bolt in his hand and chuck it like a baseball without breaking a sweat. But even though Lloyd's definitely not the ninja of lightning, it _is_ the element he found easiest to wield, when he’d had all four, and he remembers the way the connection would buzz at him. 

Jay bites his lip, his fingers tapping some vaguely familiar beat on the table as he fidgets, turning the question over in his head. 

“It’s — I feel it under my skin, you know?” he finally says, bouncing a bit in agitation. “I mean, it’s not bad, but I can — I can _hear_ the lightning outside, like it’s talking to me, and I can’t sleep through it. I normally can, I mean, but — but normally it’s not this _loud_.”

He trails off, frustrated as he glares out the window. “ _Everything’s_ been loud since the First Realm,” he mutters, beneath his breath. 

“Oh,” Lloyd says, quietly. The guys have told them about the First Realm, sure, but like — not really. The same way Lloyd and Nya have told them about the Resistance, but not really. An outline of the events, sure. A plot-like summary of important details, as detached as possible, sure. But all the worst parts, the crushing grief and despair and the awful headaches from too little sleep and too many held-back tears, all _that?_ No way. 

So while Lloyd knows they went through heck in the First Realm, he doesn’t _really_ know. But with the way Jay’s eyes are shadowed, the dark circles beneath them and the way he looks like he’s years older as he stares at the storm out the window right now, he can guess. 

“That must’ve been tough,” he finally says, hesitantly. “Being stranded, and everything. I can’t imagine what I’d do if I was cut off from everything like that.”

Jay blows his breath out, his fingers trembling slightly where they lace together. “It wasn’t fun,” he says, a little distantly. “I…I was kind of a mess, at first. I think I scared the guys. I wish I hadn’t, but it was just — it was a lot.”

Lloyd’s not sure what to say to that, so he just squeezes Jay’s forearm with his good hand, and hopes it’s worth something.

Jay shakes his head, almost as if to himself, “I just wish I’d been useful.”

Lloyd blinks at that, taken aback — and pretty concerned — at the gaping insecurity in Jay’s voice. He _knows_ Jay struggles with that, but to see it this raw—

It hurts.

“Kai says you helped build that dragon,” he says, nudging Jay’s side with his knee. “That plan wouldn’t have worked without you. And you drew up the actual plans, and kept them secret and everything. And I _saw_ you, when you guys came back. You saved us, right in the nick of time. It sounded like you were pretty crucial to the whole thing, to me.”

Jay gives a huff of laughter, but some of the tension in his expression eases. “You’re just saying that. Buttering me up,” he shakes his head, knocking his fist against Lloyd’s leg.

“Am not,” Lloyd says, kneeing him back. “I’m serious. You’re all kinds of useful. I’d totally hire you, if you came to me with your ninja resumé.”

“Yeah, ‘cause job number one on it would be ‘green ninja babysitter’. You’d have no choice."

Lloyd sputters. “I’m not — you guys don’t _babysit_ me.”

“I have a whole lot of evidence that proves otherwise,” Jay says, grinning. “The others would agree, too.”

“This is mutiny,” Lloyd glares. “The nerve, the utter disrespect. I’m your leader.”

Jay actually laughs at that, further proving Lloyd’s point that his whole team is awful. But it’s a genuine laugh, one that softens the lines of stress at the corners of Jay’s eyes, so Lloyd figures he can let it go and laugh a little himself. 

_This_ time. They’re gonna have to talk about the _babysitting_ thing later. 

“We really missed you guys,” Lloyd finally says as his laughter ebbs, his _traitor_ voice cracking in the middle. “A-a lot. I’m really glad you’re back. Like, you have no idea.”

“I think we kinda do,” Jay breathes out on dying laughter. “We missed you too, you know. We couldn’t even check if you were alright, we had no idea what was happening. You guys were realms away.”

Lloyd swallows back the _‘_ but you were _dead’_. Jay doesn’t need that knowledge right now. Jay needs to be able to _relax_ , and to get more than three hours of sleep for once. 

“Well, we’re in the same one now,” he says, with a wry smile. “Hopefully we can stay that way, for a while.”

“Do _not_ jinx us,” Jay points his finger at him, and Lloyd manages a grin that feels genuine this time, shrugging. He’s beyond pleased to find out that the action doesn’t hurt so much, only feeling the faint twinges of pain this time. Lloyd stifles a yawn instead of replying, and Jay fixes him with a look, jerking his head back toward the bedroom.

“If your arm’s better, you should get back to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lloyd mutters, biting back a groan as he stands, wobbling a bit as his arm swings loosely. “That goes for you, too.”

“I’m not the one with designer bags for eyes,” Jay says, even though he clearly has dark circles worse than Lloyd. He pauses, eyeing Lloyd’s arm. “You _really_ shouldn’t sleep with this on, you know,” he adds, tapping his wrist, nails clacking oddly on the metal. 

Lloyd cringes. “I know,” he mutters. “I’m just — I don’t wanna have to put it on, if we…”

“If we’re attacked in the middle of the night?” Jay says drily, but there’s understanding in his voice. “Yeah, I get that. But hey, how about this: you sleep with it off for tonight, and if anyone comes in to kill you, I’ll take ‘em out.”

Lloyd raises an eyebrow. “Lightning blast to the face?”

“Lightning blast to the face,” Jay nods solemnly. 

Lloyd shifts, arms wrapped around himself, his real fingers clenching anxiously at the juncture where his prosthetic meets his arm. It’s tempting, the idea of having the heavy weight off for the night. Really tempting. 

But that also means _taking_ it off, and that sounds…less than fun, especially after all the pain he’s already been in tonight.

“I’ll consider it,” Lloyd says, smiling weakly. “But I have full faith in you.”

Jay’s eyes are understanding as he nods, knocking his fist gently against Lloyd’s arm again. “Good. Now, bed. Practice starts back tomorrow, remember? You don’t wanna be dead tired for that.”

Lloyd’s heart sinks. _Oh, no._ He’d forgotten. 

“Aw, man,” he moans. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

“Don’t say that,” Jay says, clearly trying to sound optimistic. “It’ll go fine. Wait and see.”

* * *

It is, in fact, a disaster. 

The first practice with the guys after everything reminds him a whole lot of his first time sparring with Nya down one arm, and that — well, sucks. That’s about as cheerfully as he can put it. 

“Do you need a hand?” Lloyd looks up at the voice, shielding his eyes against the afternoon sun. Zane’s standing over him, looking slightly apologetic, his hand outstretched.

Lloyd takes the offered hand, pulling himself with a grunt of effort. “Yeah, a right one would be nice.”

Jay and Nya groan in unison. Zane just flicks his eyes skywards, his mouth curving up slightly as he hauls Lloyd the rest of the way to his feet. Lloyd wobbles a bit, caught off guard, and Zane steadies him, grabbing for his prosthetic before he can lose balance. Zane’s hand lingers a little too long around it, his eyes flashing in concentration where they rest on the metal fingers. Lloyd’s about to ask him what’s up — growing slightly defensive — when Zane lets go, blinking once. The look of furrowed concentration stays on his face even as he steps back, though, and Lloyd’s not sure if he likes that.

“Sorry, Lloyd,” Cole says, interrupting his train of thought as he steps forward, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck in guilt. “I didn’t think you’d — I shouldn’t have been hitting that hard.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have,” Kai snaps testily, his eyes flashing in the dangerous kind of protectiveness Lloyd’s used to seeing against people _not_ in their family. He quickly intervenes, waving his hands. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine, chill out,” he says, hastily. “I wasn’t paying attention, it was my fault. Besides, it’s not any worse than what Nya gave me the first time we sparred with, uh…the arm.”

Nya rolls her eyes. “You kept _tripping_ everywhere. That’s not my fault.”

Lloyd goes a bit red, but he doesn’t argue back. He’s pretty sure Pixal has video footage that would invalidate any argument he’d have, anyways. 

Kai looks between the two of them, then seems to lose some of the fire, shoulders sagging. “Just…be more careful,” he mutters. “Lloyd’s arm is still pretty new.”

Lloyd’s head swivels to Kai, his mouth half-open, incredulous. He begs Kai’s _pardon_ , who, again, lost their arm here and who definitely didn’t? Who knows what they’re talking about, and who knows _absolutely nothing_ —

“Yeah, no, for sure,” Cole nods back, like Lloyd isn’t even here. “I’ll let up on the heavier attacks, too.”

Lloyd snaps his mouth shut tightly. He wants to _scream_. They’re all acting like Lloyd is glass, like he’s fragile. And that’s not the problem. The problem isn’t his arm. The problem isn’t even that he’s not used to the prosthetic, because at this point he kinda _is_. (He’s getting there.) No, the problem is that the guys are all walking on eggshells around him, to the point where the hits they _do_ throw at him are so sporadic it’s completely throwing Lloyd off. Like he’s being attacked by uncoordinated chickens with no heart in their attacks, or something. 

It’s actually a pretty good strategy to keep in mind, he muses, for another time when the target isn’t _him_. 

“Um, no, you won’t,” he says instead, biting his cheek to keep the edge out of his voice. “You’re going to actually attack me. You’re holding back so much right now you’re handicapping yourself worse than me _without_ a metal arm.”

Cole looks taken aback. “I just sent you to the ground, bud,” he says. “Hard.”

“You only sent me to the ground because I wasn’t expecting you to hit like Jay,” Lloyd shoots back.

“Hey!” 

“If that’s the tactic you wanna use, fine, but only if you’ve got a plan for when I blast you right back from the ground.”

Cole blinks. “Do your powers even work with the prosthetic?”

“I do have another arm,” Lloyd growls. He immediately feels bad, because he sounds angrier than he should be, but that subject’s touchy. He hasn’t tried to use his powers with the prosthetic yet, apart from the blinding blast of energy he’d given off when he’d first gotten them back, and he doesn’t want to find out if another use will blow his arm to pieces or not. 

“It should work with it, anyways,” Nya assures them, though there’s a spark of uncertainty in her eyes. “Your powers are pretty intuitive. They protect you, so it wouldn’t make sense for them to hurt you like that.”

Lloyd doesn’t say how completely unfounded this is, because his powers tried to protect him during the fight with his father and they sure as _heck_ hurt him then, but she does have…a bit of a point. And again — there’s like, the glaring fact that his arm did _not_ explode when he went supernova on top of Borg Tower. And Lloyd’s control is way better these days, so in all honesty, it’ll probably be fine. 

But on the off chance. Lloyd is trying to be more careful, lately. 

Now the _guys_ , though. The guys are taking _careful_ to a completely ridiculous level. 

“Maybe we should tone it down for today, just to be safe,” Kai says, exchanging looks with Cole. A vein somewhere in Lloyd’s forehead begins to throb. “We don’t want to take any risks.”

“Oh, yeah, like we weren’t taking _plenty_ of risks while you guys were gone in the First Realm. Oh wait, we did, and we were _just fine_ then,” Lloyd snaps. 

He immediately regrets it, because Kai’s expression does this awful crumpling thing, and Cole’s eyes widen painfully. Jay just looks down, and Lloyd _hates_ himself. 

“I-I didn’t mean—” he stammers, grasping desperately for the words to apologize, when Zane lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, silencing him.

“How about I train with Lloyd one on one for a bit,” he says. The corners of his mouth quirk up, humorlessly. “I think cooling down might be in order.”

Lloyd feels his cheeks heat, but he ducks his head, nodding. Kai looks like he want to protest, but he shuts his mouth, nodding as well, and Lloyd’s relieved to see a kind of understanding in his eyes. 

He hopes he does, Lloyd thinks to himself, as Zane leads them away from the others, to the other side of the yard they’re using for training. He _hopes_ , that Kai and Jay and Cole know he isn’t _actually_ trying to attack them for getting yanked into another realm instead of being crushed to death, because that is definitely not something he would _ever complain about_ —

“So, how strong is your arm?”

Lloyd blinks rapidly, yanked back to the present. “My — what?”

Zane repeats the question, patiently. “Your arm, the prosthetic one. Do you know how strong it is?”

“Like…as in durability, or how hard can I hit with it?” Lloyd asks, flexing a metal wrist. 

“Ah. That’s a good question,” Zane tilts his head. “Both, I suppose.”

“Um, pretty strong, I guess,” Lloyd winces, remembering the last time he’d tested how strong it was, and he’d sent the punching bag _through the wall_ instead. “Most of the strength is in my forearm, ‘cause it’s just metal and gears there. It gets a little dicey where it connects, up here, but it can take the heavy hits.”

His _father_ had the honor of testing that part out, he thinks bitterly. 

Zane nods, his eyes calculating. “Good. Then show me a heavy hit.”

It takes a second for the question to register, but when it does, Lloyd blanches. “No,” he says, firmly. “No way.” He remembers how the punching bag crumpled beneath his metal fist. He remembers _too_ well how his father, full power, had actually buckled under several of his hits. The idea of hitting one of the guys with that same force makes him sick. 

“Ah,” Zane says, and there’s a spark in his eyes. “So _now_ you want to start holding back.”

“This — this is different,” Lloyd grinds out, trying not to go red in embarrassment. “It’s one thing to hold back entirely, but my arm is — its different, Zane, it’s way stronger now, and I don’t wanna hurt you guys with it.”

“I’m not going to break, Lloyd,” Zane says, cooly.

Lloyd bites his lip. “Look, I’m serious, you don’t understan—”

The end of Lloyd’s sentence cuts off with a yelp as Zane sweeps his leg out from beneath him, sending him sprawling to the ground. He looks up at him, wounded, and Zane just tilts his head.

“You said you want us to stop holding back,” he says, challenging. “You want a real fight, so fight back. _Hit_ me.”

That’s all the warning Lloyd gets before Zane sweeps another kick toward him, forcing Lloyd to roll out of the way, somersaulting backwards before springing back to his feet. He opens his mouth to protest, but Zane’s elbow is already whistling toward his head, followed by his fist, and Lloyd’s too busy blocking and dodging to get any word out edgewise. 

He’s not going to hit him with it, Lloyd tells himself fiercely. He’s _not_ , but — but Zane is _actually_ attacking him now, with all the cool calculation and devastating accuracy Zane is _really_ good at, and if Lloyd doesn’t launch a counterattack soon, Zane’s going to _obliterate_ him in full view of everyone. 

Through the buzz of adrenaline, Lloyd bites back a curse. He’s forgotten, for a crippling moment, how _smart_ Zane is. The way he’s pressing on him is leaving his left arm for blocking, which means the only way he’s gonna get a decent hit in is with his right. So either Lloyd sucks it up and hits Zane with the metal arm already, or he’s going to eat dirt the rest of the day. 

_Darn it, Zane_ , Lloyd thinks heatedly, barely dodging the next barrage of hits, wincing as one clips his shoulder. He’s just gonna have to do it. They _both_ asked for this—

Lloyd suddenly ducks, darting beneath Zane’s blow then squaring back, bringing his fist up and swinging hard — just to crash right into Zane’s own blocked fist with a loud, screeching clang of metal. 

Lloyd blinks. The hit he’d just thrown wasn’t holding back — it was _way_ harder than he should’ve thrown, actually — but Zane just slides a few feet back, barely flinching. He flexes his wrist, a grin curving up the edge of his mouth. 

“You aren’t the only one with a metal arm, you know,” he says evenly, and oh. _Oh_. Lloyd stops dead, staring at him. 

So Lloyd’s just an _idiot_. Here he is, freaking out about how _different_ his arm is now, how no one gets it, and Zane’s been metal this _whole entire time_. 

“I…” Lloyd trails off, staring at him wordlessly. He feels so _stupid_ , a total sham of the leader he’s supposed to be. He’s overlooked the most obvious fact _ever_ , to the point where he’s been severely misjudging Zane, and that’s…that’s bad. That’s very bad, if he’s calling himself leader here. 

And _that_ , Lloyd realizes, with an unpleasant jolt, is the real problem with all this. Not the guys, not the arm. It’s Lloyd, failing to lead them against Harumi, failing to lead them against his father, and failing to lead them now. No wonder they can’t take him seriously, when Lloyd can’t even give them the decency of doing the same. 

“Oh,” he whispers.

“It’s difficult,” Zane says, quietly. “To see yourself as one way, then suddenly as another. Even if it’s just one limb. Adjusting can be…difficult.”

Lloyd ducks his head, swallowing. “I’m sorry.”

Zane makes a noise that could be a huff of laughter, if it wasn’t so exasperated. “You don’t need to apologize. That is not the point I’m trying to make.”

Lloyd stares at the ground, not meeting his eyes. Zane’s footsteps draw close, until he’s right in front of him. 

“Lloyd.” Zane’s hand is gentle on his shoulder, and Lloyd slowly looks up at him, feeling very much like he’s nine years old again, and Zane is the older brother who knows infinitely more about the world than he ever will. 

“We are more than just a team for you to lead,” he says, gently. “We’re your family, above all else. We may not have been here when you needed us, but we are here now, and we _want_ to be. We trust you. We just want you to trust us back.”

“I do,” Lloyd says, fervently. “I do, Zane, and I didn’t mean to — I never _blamed_ —” He cuts off, shaking his head and swallowing. “I wanted to be there, too,” he rasps. “I — we couldn’t be there for you guys, either. You were alone, too. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to any of us.”

“No,” Zane says, sounding very tired. “No, it wasn’t.”

Not for the first time, Lloyd wonders how heavily the guys edited their own story of their time apart, and how much of the darker stuff they decided to leave out. The hollow look in Zane’s eyes leaves his stomach sinking. _Probably a lot_. 

“B-but we’re together now,” Lloyd finally speaks up, cringing at the waver in his voice. “And, um. I know I’ve been most of the problem, but — but I trust you guys. I trust _you_ , so — could you show me how to use my arm?”

Zane looks at him, and Lloyd offers him a tentative smile. “Since you’re the resident expert, and all.”

Zane’s mouth quirks up in a grin of amusement, and Lloyd feels a happy flare of victory at the action. 

“I wouldn’t call myself _that_ ,” he says, lightly. “But yes, I can help adjust your training. Provided, of course, you throw better hits. No offense intended, but that one was…pitiful, at best.”

Lloyd chokes on a laugh. “Okay, if _that’s_ how it is. I’ll show you a real hit. Just don’t go crying to Cole when I wipe the floor with you.”

“I assure you,” and there’s an edge to Zane’s smile that promises Lloyd’s not leaving here without his fair share of bruises. “I have _no_ intention of doing so.” 

* * *

Training with Zane helps even more than he’d thought it would. Not only does Lloyd start to learn how to better use his prosthetic to an advantage, the others pick up on it and start actually _fighting_ Lloyd again, well-practiced moves and techniques that force him to fight back, and by the third week of practices they’ve all slid back into a steady routine, even if there is still the occasional hesitation when it comes to Lloyd’s right arm. 

Except for Nya. She’s been sending him sprawling across the mat since day one, no problem, and even with her healing arm she’s never stopped threatening to do it again. 

Lloyd’s beyond grateful, though — he’s starting to almost feel normal again, to feel a little like his old self, with his proper place on the team, and he finally, _finally_ feels like he’s doing something _right_. So he’s got no right to complain whatsoever, when the increased training leaves his arm feeling so sore he may as well have gotten hit by a truck. 

A throbbing ache shoots through his right wrist again, pulsing up through the bones of his arm. Lloyd’s fingers grasp on air, wavering once, twice before it clicks that there’s nothing there. A croaking laugh almost bubbles up in his throat. His arm is in agony and it’s not even _there_. There is no wrist there to hurt, he doesn’t even have his prosthetic on right now. So why—

_Phantom pain_ , he reminds himself firmly, before clicking the prosthetic back into place, the motion slowly growing familiar. It’s just a ghost, like Morro. Lloyd survived him, he can survive this. 

Besides, he doesn’t have time to be hallucinating an arm that’s not there. He’s gotta have his best face on right now, because this…this is going to take a lot out of him.

Lloyd stares at Kryptarium Prison with hollow eyes, trying to rid himself of the icy shiver that’s crawling up and down his spine. They’ve since fixed the damage to the walls, and he’s _eternally_ grateful for that — but the stretch of stone that’s been recently repaired is obvious, and Lloyd can easily pick out exactly where he went bursting through when—

_When Lloyd’s brain was an idiot_ , he scolds himself, as the shiver threatens to turn into a full-blown panic attack. Those memories need to go right back into the dark hole he’s shoved them in, where they can stay for the rest of his _entire_ life. 

Besides, the person he’s about to see is gonna bring back enough bad memories, as it is. 

Lloyd swallows, forcing past the fear closing in around his throat as he finally starts walking again, his feet practically dragging toward the prison doors. His arm throbs in pain with every step, spreading to the aching twin points on the back of his right hand.

_Which isn’t there_ , he reminds himself fiercely. _There’s no hand to hurt, move past it, brain_. 

The doors slide open for him with a mechanical hiss, a chiming bell warning the guards of his entrance. Lloyd’s in full gi, hood pulled back, so no one stops him, the outermost guards just nodding to him as he passes. Lloyd barely manages a grimace of greeting for them, where he’d normally have at least something sincere. But it’s hard enough, trying to keep his expression impassive. Each step further into the prison feels like a step closer to his doom, and this is _ridiculous_ because the only other time he’s felt this nervous walking up a set of stairs was the _Overlord_ —

“Name, please?”

Lloyd blinks, abruptly realizing he’s already reached the check-in gate. He shakes his head, trying to reorient himself. _Name, please,_ he thinks drily, as he looks up. Like this guard doesn’t know who he is, entirely decked out in green, it isn’t like he’s been on TV a _whole lot_ in the last month—

Anyways. 

“Lloyd Garmadon,” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound like a gasp for air. “I’d like to see my — um, Lord Garmadon. He should be in heavy lockdown.”

_Private lockdown, somewhere dark and deep, probabl_ y, Lloyd thinks. He tells himself he doesn’t feel anything at that. His father probably likes it, anyways, being alone and in the dark. That’s all it seems he’d even wanted, except for maybe _her_ —

Lloyd thrusts the hot flash of emotion down deep along with the rest of that thought, and tries to focus on the guard’s reply. 

“—terribly sorry, but I can’t let you in.”

Lloyd’s brain stutters to a halt. “Sorry, could you repeat that?” he frowns, taken aback. He doesn’t like to throw his weight around, but Lloyd’s _pretty_ sure that the ninja are supposed to have clearance to the entire prison. Especially after everything that’s happened, he and Nya practically have clearance to the entire city at this point.

“Your name’s been blacklisted,” the guard chews on the edge of his lip nervously. “Y-you aren’t allowed access to the prisoner in question.”

Lloyd blinks rapidly. “ _What?_ ”

The guard is visibly sweating now. “The, uh, the records say I can’t let you in. To see him. Not without a signature.”

Lloyd’s stomach does a weird swooping thing, like he’s missed a step on the stairs. If he needs a signature, then _someone_ had to go out of their way to block him — _specifically_ him — from seeing Garmadon. Someone who the warden apparently decided had the right to make decisions for Lloyd. 

“ _Who’s_ signature,” Lloyd grits out, fury barely held back. 

The poor guard — because he really doesn’t deserve this, but _oh_ , Lloyd is _angry_ — shrinks even smaller in his seat, swallowing.

“Wu,” he finally says, stammering. “Your uncle, he — I’m sorry, but he technically has the right…”

Lloyd steps back, metal creaking as his fist forms. “Thank you,” he clips out tightly, then spins in place, hoping his eyes haven’t gone supernova yet. 

No, he’s saving that for his _uncle_. 

* * *

“How could you do that.” 

Sensei Wu barely stirs, visibly unaffected by the way Lloyd’s just slammed his door open, and is currently fuming in the doorway like a very angry part-Oni crime of nature. 

“It was, at the moment, the correct course of action to take.” He sips evenly at his tea, not even attempting to pretend he doesn’t know exactly what Lloyd’s talking about.

Lloyd sees red. “You had _no_ right.”

Sensei Wu finally looks at him, sighing wearily. “I’m your family, Lloyd. I have every right—”

“ _Not this one!_ ”

Sensei’s eyes are sympathetic, but unrelenting. “Your mother told me what happened, Lloyd. What you did.”

Lloyd almost swallows his tongue at the shock of surprise, but it quickly mixes with a hot flare of betrayal in his chest. It’s his arm, it’s _his_ story to tell. 

“ _Cool._ ” The words scrape through his teeth. “That doesn’t mean you can block me from seeing him!” 

“Your head isn’t in the right place to see him, Lloyd. Neither is your heart. I believe you know this, too.”

“My _head_ —” Lloyd trips over his words in anger. “My head is fine! So’s my heart, _thanks.”_

Sensei Wu’s eyes narrow. “You’ve never been the best of liars, nephew.”

Lloyd is going to _smash_ his stupid teapot. “Then maybe your perception is still off from the First Realm, _uncle_.”

A part of Lloyd’s soul _dies_ at the sentence, because it’s the most dangerously rude thing he’s said to his uncle since he was like, eight. But he swallows it back, because he has a bad feeling it’s not going to be the worst thing he says in this conversation. 

His uncle’s lips press tightly together, and Lloyd feels more than sees the crackle of anger in his eyes as the atmosphere heats, no longer a conversation between sensei and student. It’s a _family_ conversation, now. “I hardly need much perception to see how traumatized you are from recent events. It’s not difficult to miss.”

“ _Traumatized_ —” Lloyd sputters, his own eyes narrowing. “You know what, _fine_ , so what? It’s not like I haven’t been — been traumatized, or whatever, before,” he snaps. “Morro put my head pretty _out of place,_ and you were fine with that.”

Sensei Wu’s eyes flash. “I was not ‘fine’ with that. I was _nowhere_ near fine with that, but at that time you were equipped to deal with it. And you were not forcing yourself to face Morro on some shred of false hope you know will only hurt.”

Lloyd full-body flinches back at that last part. But it’s not that — it’s not because — 

See, Lloyd _knows._ He’s had it physically beaten into him _multiple_ times, that he’s not the father he knew. He _knows_ that he’s not really him, that he will _never_ be him, that he will _never_ regain the father he lost no matter how much this one looks like him.

But — but Lloyd’s heart can only take _so much_ at once, and he’s dangerously close to reaching a point where _nothing_ will repair that kind of break. He can take a hundred prison walls and his arm cut off fifty times in a row, but _that_ is something he’d rather die than have to face right now. 

And to hear the phrase _false hope_ coming from the _one_ person he’d hoped would understand nearly breaks Lloyd on the spot. 

So he gets angry instead. 

“You taught me not to give in to fear,” his voice is icy, words measured and slow. “You taught me not to put off until tomorrow what I can deal with today, and _you_ wanted me to make my own decisions.”

“Yet I do _not_ recall teaching you to disregard any and all concerns for your wellbeing,” his uncle replies, his voice just as glacial. “Nor do I remember teaching you to argue back against my orders.” 

“You _made me master!_ ” Lloyd nearly shouts back, barely restraining himself. “You told _me_ to start giving the orders, how am I supposed to do that if you don’t trust me? You can’t keep _doing_ this to me, either you trust me or you don’t!”

“I do trust you, but I will _not_ lose another member of my family because they believe they’re stronger than they are!” Uncle Wu snaps, his eyes flashing, and for a beat Lloyd can almost see the Oni in his blood, as well. “I’ve forced you to face your father too many times, Lloyd. I will not let him continue to hurt you.”

“He isn’t hurting me!” Lloyd bursts out, despite knowing those words are a stone-cold lie. But— “He’s already hurt me, I almost _died_ , what worse can he do from a prison cell?”

“More than you will acknowledge!” his uncle barks back. He exhales tightly, eyes closing briefly before re-opening. “Lloyd, I understand that you are upset with my decision. But in time, you _will_ see that this was the right one. Your perception is clouded to the point where you can no longer see yourself properly, and a leader who continues to put themselves further into that state is not fit to be leader.”

Lloyd’s teeth snap together with an audible _clack_ , and his fists tighten, fingernails biting into his palms and metal fingers creaking. “You’ve been gone for _months_ ,” he grinds out. “For a year, and I led just fine that whole time. You can’t just come back now and say I’m — I’m a screwup—”

“That is not what I—”

“And you keep talking about decisions, when you didn’t even ask me before—”

“Lloyd—”

“—going behind my back is way out of line and you know it!”

“This is not—”

“And my perception is _fine_ , I _do_ see myself—”

“Lloyd, I said—”

“—and I’m fine, Uncle Wu, I _swear_ , I can face him I’m fine—”

“That is _enough_ , Lloyd!” 

Lloyd flinches back as his uncle’s voice cracks out, angrier than he’s heard it. Wu’s knuckles turn white around his cup handle, and his eyes glint with the steel of his glare. “ _This_ is my decision, and I will not move from it until you can prove that you are ready.”

_Until he can prove he’s ready_. Like Lloyd hasn’t had to prove again and _again_ —

Like he doesn’t believe in Lloyd either when _he_ was the one—

Like Lloyd wasn’t willing to lose an _arm_ not to fail him—

Something dangerous in Lloyd _snaps_. 

“You’re _just_ as bad as him,” he spits, venomous like a snake. “You’re _all_ the same, you think you know what’s best for me and you _never_ care how I feel! You don’t even care about me, you just care about the _stupid_ Green Ninja and your _stupid_ prophecies and I’m _sick_ of it, I’m _so_ sick of being your Green Ninja, I _hate_ it!”

Sensei Wu goes stark white. His fingers tremble and his teacup drops to the table, his eyes painfully wide. “ _Lloyd_ ,” he whispers, weakly. “That’s not—”

“Fine,” Lloyd snaps over him, blinking back angry tears. “ _Fine_ , I’ll stay away from him. I’ll stay away from _all_ of you. I hate being part of this family anyways.”

He turns on heel before he can look at his uncle a second longer, before the tears can start to fall and he has the chance to say anything else. There’s a high-pitched buzzing in his ears as he storms back down the hall, the lightbulbs above him sparking wildly in his wake before shorting out, exploding into tiny bits of glass that rain over the floor.

Lloyd darts past them, hurrying his footsteps as he tries to escape the apartment with the rest of the lights unscathed. Shoving open the stairwell door, Lloyd makes a break for the rooftop, where he at least knows it’ll be quiet, and there won’t be as many lights for him to burst, and his uncle can’t—

Lloyd pushes the rooftop door open and stumbles out with a heaving gasp, drawing air in desperately as if that’ll ground him. His heart is racing way too fast, _way_ too angry, and his power is zinging all over his skin like a swarm of angry bees. He’s almost dizzy with how angry he is — except that’s not right, he’s not just _angry_ , there’s a whole wave of emotion coming in from somewhere that’s threatening to — to drown him, and this is why Lloyd should always keep things _bottled back where they belong_ —

A transformer across the street blows, and Lloyd jumps in alarm as it explodes, showering sparks down toward the street below. Lloyd blinks past the blurring tears, his stomach dropping. There’s a flickering of lights before the apartment complex below it goes dark, power lost as startled cries sound from the open windows. The power lines around him start thrumming dangerously, reaching a higher-pitched whine that prefaces bursting. Lloyd’s throat closes over in panic. _Oh, no._ He didn’t think — he can't be this bad. He doesn’t lose control like _this_ , he — he needs to _stop_ , right now, or the entire _city’s_ going to lose power.

He clenches his fists again, trying to reign the power in, to pull it back to him, but it only sputters more wildly out of control. Lloyd’s hands are trembling now, shaking worse than before, and in a desperate attempt for it to stop he crumples to the rooftop, pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, burying his head in the crook of his flesh elbow and squeezing tight, metal digging painfully into his leg as he draws in tighter and tighter — like he can crush himself down into something small enough that he won’t _feel_ so much anymore, and his power will stop, _stop_ —

But it’s like he’s back in the prison, his power sparking wildly out of control and not _listening_ to him. Just like _her_. Like his father, like his uncle, nothing he’s gotten from his family _ever_ listens to him when it matters, and why should they. Why will they _ever_ , when all Lloyd’s ever going to be is a weapon, a scribbled line in a prophecy or a stepping stone for _power_ —

It’s _his_ power. His power, and he can’t even get it to _listen_ to him. 

Lloyd listens to the power lines around him explode and lets his sweatshirt sleeve soak up the tears.

Lying to himself can only get him so far. He’s never going to be able to prove he’s ready to face his father. 

Not when he doesn’t even know if he _can_. 


End file.
